“Gross. Also true.”
“Wait, how did two kids have Maine? You could have partners?”
“I guess if two people picked the same state.” He shrugs.
“Maybe Quin just wanted a partner. Maybe that’s why she wanted Maine.” What kind of teacher doesn’t assign the new kid a partner?
“Well, nobody’s going to want to be her partner if she acts like that.” He sounds exasperated, like they’ve been through this before. Like Maine or no Maine, nobody likes the kid who shits on Ohio and shreds it over the class pet.
“They’d want to be her partner if she had Delaware. Cool people pick Delaware.”
“I would always pick you for my partner,” he says, and all my internal organs stop working. “You’d do all the work.”
“Right,” I say, and hope there’s an all-school poster assignment so Jackson and I can work on Delaware together.
“Almost forgot.” Jackson kneels to unzip his backpack. “I have something for you.”
I assume it’s something boring like a note for my mom from his, but I hold my breath hoping it’s Grumpy. I haven’t asked about him and I’m not going to. The only way I’m ever seeing that dwarf again is if I break into Jackson’s house. Or I’m invited. Hah.
Max Cleave stops in front of us and says, “You coming to the cages?”
Jackson stands up and I see that he’s got a balled-up paper towel in his hand. Definitely not a note, but it seems like a bad way to keep a miniature glass diamond miner. Maybe Quinlan stole something else, too. Maybe he’s returning Tyler’s nut cup.
“Yep. I’ll meet you by the west door.” The minute bell rings to move the cattle along to class. I don’t know what I’m more curious about—the thing he’s got in his hand or what he’s doing with Max Cleave.
Jackson watches me watch Max walk away. “Off-season batting practice. I guess I’m going out for baseball next spring.”
“I thought you played tennis?”
He shrugs. “Might be nice to do a real team sport again.”
Apparently, it’s that easy for him, coasting from sport to sport, team to team, school to school, friends to friends.
The halls are emptying. A teacher across the hall leans out to shut the door and give us the stink eye.
Jackson holds out the wadded paper towel. “I hope it’s not too squished.” I take it from him and peel back the sides. It’s a chocolate chip muffin. Given to me. By Jackson Oates. “My mom made them.” I blink at that beautiful muffin, and I want to stuff it in my mouth all at once, and also never eat a bite of it. “Seemed like something you’d like,” he adds, since I still haven’t said anything. Of course I like it. It’s a homemade muffin chockful of chips, smelling like butter and vanilla and brown sugar. Plus it could have been Quin’s class guinea pig fried on a stick and I would still love it, because Jackson Oates wrapped it up in a paper towel and brought it to school for me. But the fact that it’s a muffin just pushes everything over the top.
“Thanks,” I manage.
“Guten appetit!” And then he’s gone, and I’m carrying that muffin into math like a baby guinea pig. (A delicious baby guinea pig.)
CHAPTER 12
Volleyball tryouts are next week. Jessa Timms has reminded me four times. Ms. Reinhold has mentioned it zero times. I told Jessa I’d think about it. I will. I’ll think about how I’m not going to try out for volleyball.
I open the link from Ms. R on my phone again. She was telling the truth: It is not school related. Or even volleyball related.
It’s a website called Sports Supports.
The logo looks like it was made on a home computer from when my parents were in school. Sports Supports is written in a font like NASCAR’s, and they’ve highlighted all but the U and one P in Supports so at first it looks like it says Sports Sports. A lot of the text on the site is yellow against a blue background. It is the cheapest-looking website I’ve ever seen, including the one Tyler and his friends made in third grade so they could post videos of Matchbox cars smashing into each other.
It is a cheap-looking website that sells one very expensive thing: a sports bra.
Only it’s not just any sports bra. It has a name. It’s called the Stabilizer and it says it’s designed for “active women with cup sizes from DD to J.” It says its “unique design” and “patented fiber blend” “provides multi-angled support and stabilization.” It “eliminates neck and shoulder pain,” “minimizes movement,” “wicks away moisture,” and “provides a slenderizing and flattering fit.” It comes in one color: beige. There is a picture of it. It looks like a giant knot of ace bandages with two big beige shields sewn into it. It looks neither flattering nor comfortable.
The Stabilizer sounds like the title of a Denzel Washington movie, not like something I’d like to strap my boobs into.
But there are 267 reviews averaging 4.9 stars out of 5.
I’ve been reading and rereading the raves since I first opened the link:
Age: 30–35
Size: 32 DDD/F
I just finished my first half marathon in the Stabilizer and I can’t believe how good I feel! No pain whatsoever. And no adjusting the whole time!!! Everything stayed put. And no monoboob! U won’t believe it!! Totally worth the price.
Age: 50–59
Size: 42G
I have tride every lady’s bra on the market and when this one came out a friend said “waht can it hurt just try it theres a garuntee you can get your money back.” I can tell you I WON’T be asking for money back. This is the best bra Ive ever wore in almost 50 years of wearing braziers. I don’t do any sports but I have it on all the time except sleep. If their was a white one I would get that to.
Age: 12–18
Size: 32H
Love love love this bra! Okay it’s not cute. Like SERIOUSLY not cute. But I haven’t been able to wear a Victoria’s Secret or Perk Up bra since I was 11. It keeps everything locked down so when I’m running or cheering my boobs aren’t flying all over. LOL. Plus everyone asks if I lost weight. Would rather have a bra that works than a cute one that doesn’t do the job. And I can always get cute panties!!! LOL
“What are you looking at?”
I scramble so fast to close the browser I end up dropping my phone, and when Jackson bends down to pick it up, I step on his hand trying to get to it first.
“Sorry! I am so, so sorry!” I say, jamming the phone into my pocket.